Clothes Make the Man
by Ms. Mapleleaf
Summary: Surprisingly enough, Gilbert had to put up with people complaining about Matthew's wardrobe quite a lot. It didn't matter to him, so long as at the end of the day...


**Clothes Make the Man**

**Author:** me.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own any Hetalia names or characters. Countries belong to their respectful... er... location on the map.  
**Rating & Warnings:** PG-13/T - M due to the ending; writing skills that have been in Alfred's closet for way too long. Sudden!ending.  
**Pairings: **Gilbert(Prussia)/Mathieu(Canada) (Implied married!FrUk, and blatiant Spamano. –spamanobiasbias-)  
**Summary:** (AU) Surprisingly enough, Gilbert had to put up with people complaining about Matthew's wardrobe quite a lot. Didn't matter to him, so long as at the end of the day...

I'm not sure if my transition between past-tense and present-tense flowed very well… ):

* * *

Surprisingly enough, Gilbert had to put up with people complaining about Matthew's wardrobe quite a lot. Mostly Francis, the man often lamenting about how if his adopted son didn't dress more attractively then he was never going to find love (to which Gilbert protested, _what was he, chopped liver?!_). Arthur voiced his opinion as well, his feeling the same – although less flamboyant – as his husband, also comparing the youngest of his two sons to the oldest and obviously much more stylish. When those two started up, Gilbert always began feeling quite old, dating one of his best friend's sons and all. But then he remembered Antonio and his little pet that he had swooped the feet off of before the kid was barely legal and the feeling faded. There wasn't that big of a difference anyway.

That was another set of people that criticized Matthew's clothing choice. The Italian twins would look him up and down with their designer shoes and their overpriced handbags. Lovino was too – and this isn't a word one would normally use when describing the older brother – polite to say something about the baggy, unflattering clothes, but Feliciano held no qualms about telling the Canadian how he would look _so _much better in something else – maybe Versace or Armani. Ludwig judged too. Obviously not the snazziest dresser alive, but still crisp and sharply dressed; contempt for the loose clothing not hidden in his stare – like something that needed to be cleaned. Gilbert's baby brother's little Japanese friend looked up and down judgmentally, either not voicing this opinion due to good upbringing or the fact that he had no right to say anything with the oddity that were his street fashion clothes.

Possibly the worst was when Matthew was placed in the vicinity of Feliks and Elizabeta – by all rights, the two shouldn't even know the Canadian anyway, but it was the whole friend-of-a-friend social networking chain at work. Gilbert would watch as Matthew's face would visibly pale when one of the two would drag him off to the nearest clothing housing facility - be it dresser, closet, or store – insisting their fashion tastes on the boy. Even Alfred would attempt to style his brother up, sending the occasional designer jacket from New York or shredded, stone washed jeans from the high class stores in Hollywood. They usually ended up gathering dust in the Canadian's closet.

And then there was Gilbert himself. Unlike what appeared to be _everyone_, Gilbert found nothing wrong with how Matthew Williams dressed. It was true, the Canadian could care a little bit more about his appearance on a daily basis because he was absolutely too adorable not to, but he said his baggy blue jeans and old CANADA sweatshirt were what made him feel the most comfortable. And as long as the blond was happy, his boyfriend was happy.

The German wasn't too fond of today's styles anyway. He didn't like the whole skinny jeans trend (although he had to admit, they did look pretty sexy hanging off Kiku's tiny legs), mostly because the pants weren't designed for people with as much muscular curve in their thighs as Gilbert had. Matthew looked better in looser fitting jeans, like the ones Alfred sent which actually got worn that slipped down his hips and hugged his ass _just right_ but were still comfortable enough that the Canadian wore them, despite his complains of the torn style. Shoes didn't matter much either, both men preferring to look around old thrift stores for any pairs of donated boots – combat boots, work boots, and if they saved up enough, some stylish boots that Kiku ordered from one of his weird stores in Japan.

Nah, baggy clothes didn't bother Gilbert too much. He took satisfaction in knowing that he was one of the only people in the world to know what Matthew looked like under that XL-sized hoodie. He knew the shape of that ass and the curve of those thighs so well that he could picture it; no need for skin-tight pants. Even when fully clothed and bundled up for the winter, Gilbert could still see beneath those many layers to the modest blond underneath.

However, that didn't mean he didn't appreciate the Canadian occasionally putting on some slightly more revealing clothes. Gilbert Beilschmidt was still a man, after all, and he certainly enjoyed a little dressing up on his lover's part.

Nothing fancy, and no crossplay – Gilbert got enough of that from Feliks on a normal basis, thank you very much. But sometimes Matthew would wear those shredded, acid stained jeans (sent again by Alfred and Gilbert would have to remember to thank that boy) that let his mouth-watering, milky white thighs peeking out from behind the gouged fabric. And then he'd squeeze himself into that shirt Gilbert had nicked once from the children's section of some department store – later to be harshly reprimanded when Matthew had found out what he had done- and saunter around the house. It was about twelve sizes too small, the red maple leaf symbol stretched taut across his chest, nipples obvious bumps against the white fabric. The fabric strained to cover even the skin beneath his belly button, giving Gilbert a nice hint of white before his pants dipped dangerously low over his hips.

And Matthew _knew_ what that outfit did. He knew that if he moved just right, maybe bent at the hips to pick something up rather than the knees, he could get Gilbert drooling in a matter of seconds. Maybe Matthew mastered the bend and snap… But then he would just cock his hip and his head would fall to the side and he would ask in that soft voice – innocence in it played up for the affect of it all, "What's the matter Gilbert?"

Just like he was doing now.

The problem was, it didn't happen enough, for when it did, it didn't take long before Gilbert lost all control, and pretty soon the German found his fingers looped in the blond's belt holes, caught between pulling him to the bedroom or just doing it right here in the kitchen. The decision came fast - not even five steps away from the sink - planting a kiss a little too forcefully on the luscious lips before falling to his knees.

And despite all his teasing, it was Matthew's face that turned bright red as he stared down at his boyfriend from behind his glasses. What a time to realize, some small voice in the back of Gilbert's mind informed him, to notice that, no, it wasn't the sunlight that was making the Canadian's eyes bluer, but the fact that he had traded out his typical metal-rimmed glasses for a pair of thicker black frames.

Oh that devil.

"Gilbert…" Matthew whined, yet still not taking his eyes away from the older man. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, looking anything but innocent right now in the German's eyes.

"Don't you try that with me," he growled against the obvious bulge in his boyfriend's pants. He took a moment to stop, kissing the confined erection and relishing in Matthew's keening sound. "I know you. You're the little tease that dressed like this to get me all riled up, don't go playing innocent now."

"But in the middle of the kitchen?!"

Gilbert ignored the younger man's complaints, unzipping the boy's jeans with his teeth. Oh yeah. It didn't matter to him Matthew wore. Baggy clothes that made the Canadian happy and comfortable or special clothes, reserved only for the purpose of turning his boyfriend on. As long as, at the end of the day, it was Gilbert who got the pleasure of taking them off.


End file.
